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Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Now that it's Summer, I've been making a lot more fruit desserts. I'm sure you've already read my post about strawberries. Anyway, early Sunday morning, I made around a hundred mini fruit tarts, and I was busy getting them into the display case when I was interrupted by a woman who thought that yelling was the best way to get my attention. As it turns out, she wanted to buy some tarts, but not before she touched them all first.

TTL: I'd like some service here!!

Me: (geez, tone it down, lady) Hi, can I help you?

TTL: Well, I'm standing here, so I guess I need help.

Me: (uh, rude much?) What can I get you?

TTL: I want some tarts.

Me: OK, how many would you like?

TTL:I don't know.

Me: (here we go...) Mam, if you can decide on how many you want, I can get the right size box to put them in for you.

TTL: Like I said, I don't know, so just start pulling them out.

Me: (right, all 100 of them... NOT!) Mam, do you want a couple of each kind?

TTL: (pointing) Well, I want that strawberry one with the raspberries on that tray, the blueberry one on that tray, and the two blackberry on that tray there.

Me: (for the love of God...) Mam, each tray has a mixed variety of tarts on them, so I can actually pull out all those different kinds of tarts that you asked for off of this first tray.

TTL: (eyes big and wide) NOOOO!!!! I want the the ones I showed you!

Me: (holy crap, calm the h*ll down) Mam, they are all the same from one tray to the next.

TTL: How do I know that you're telling me the truth?

Me: (seriously???) I just made them, mam.

TTL: (in a commanding tone) Pull the trays out so I can pick my own tarts.

Me: (uh, excuse me??) Mam, I can't pull out all ten trays.

TTL: I want to see them up close.

Me: (let me bash your face into the glass, would that be close enough?) OK, I'll pull out only those three trays with the tarts that you pointed at.

As soon as I got the trays up on the counter, she started pointing and touching.

TTL: I want this one, this one, not that one, or that one. This one, not that one. This one here, and...

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

I'm pretty sure I've told you guys before that we don't do any actual baking from scratch at our bakery. Everything that we put into the oven to bake comes premixed from our supplier. So, let's say we have to make blueberry muffins, for example. All we do is open up a pail of blueberry muffin mix, scoop the batter it into muffin tins, pop the tins into the oven, and 25 minutes later - voila - we have freshly baked blueberry muffins. At least we think they're fresh. They just came out of the oven, after all. Well, when a lady came in looking for fresh bread this week, I found out that "fresh" doesn't mean the same thing to everyone.

Me: (looking up from the cake that I was icing to see a woman pointing at the bread rack behind the counter) Hello, can I help you?

FBL: (nothing, just waving her finger at God knows what on the bread rack)

Me: (for the love of God, I'm not a mind reader, lady) Is there something in particular you're pointing at?

FBL: I want a baguette.

Me: (she speaks!) Oh, those are not baked yet.

FBL: Yes, they are.

Me: (how the h*ll would you know?) No, they're not.

FBL: You don't bake here?

Me: Not from scratch. The dough comes to us frozen, and we just put it into the pans to bake.

FBL: Exactly what kind of bakery are you?

Me: We're a non-baking bakery.

FBL: What's your name?

Me: (pointing at my name tag) JB, I'm the assistant manager.

FBL: You have bad attitude for an assistant manager.

Me: (WTF, lady??) I'm sorry, but did you want me to lie and tell you that we bake from scratch?

FBL: (nothing, just looking at me with a really sour expression)

Me: (great, back to mind reading) Mam, do you still want a baguette (so I can beat you with it)? We did bake some fresh ones.

FBL: Not if it was frozen.

Me: (of course) Alright, sorry about that.

FBL: I guess I'll go to a bakery that makes fresh bread.

Me: (good luck with that, lady) If you find one, let me know.

Believe it or not folks, there aren't too many bakeries around here that still bake everything that they sell from scratch, so finding one isn't easy. Trust me, after being in the restaurant biz for years, I got to know which bakeries were actually making bread and cakes, and which ones were getting their dough and mixes from a supplier.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

For the last two weeks, I have been up to my eyeballs in everything strawberry. Strawberry shortcakes, cheesecakes, and tortes. Strawberry pies, tarts, and flans. Strawberry parfait, mousse, and muffins. Chocolate dipped strawberries....

I am so f-ing tired of strawberries!!!!!

Sure, I know they're tasty, but you work with strawberries for two weeks straight and let me know how much you like them. I especially hate the stuff we coat the strawberries with. It's called "shine glaze" and it's made from ingredients that I can't pronounce. Before we can use it, we have to heat it in the microwave for a few minutes. When we take it out, it's bloody hot and ready to pour. When it hits the fruit, it gels right away. Actually, it gels to anything right away and good luck trying to get that sh*t off. It's a frickin' mess!

Anyway, if you've ever wondered how strawberries stay fresh in a counter for seven days, it's all about the "shine glaze."

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Last week I told you about the guy who bought three cakes from us on Father's Day. He was a little slow, but he was a nice man. I'd be happy to serve him again. A man I'd rather not serve again is this dirty old dude who also came by that day. He's at least 65 years old, very rich, but very cheap. He's always looking for a deal, yet I never see him without his Bvlgari sunglasses. Morning, afternoon, evening... the guy always comes in wearing those pricey designer shades. The hilarious thing abut those sunglasses is that they aren't men's, they're women's. LOL As for what makes him dirty, it's the way he speaks to us. He's always saying things that are totally inappropriate, and he does it in a voice that's a weird combination of Jack Nicholson and Sylvester Stallone. I think he's under the impression that he looks and sounds super suave, but he couldn't be more wrong. He's totally creepy, and I always feel like I need a shower after he stops by.

DOD: (leaning up against the counter & lifting his shades to rest on his head) Good day, ladies.

Me: (ewww, it's you!!) Hello sir, how are you today?

DOD: (remember, think Nicholson & Stallone combined) Well, I'm great. It's Father's Day, not that I'm a father, but I could have a few illegitimate children around the world that I don't know about. (looking over at Drey and winking) Don't go tell my wife, little one.

Me: (someone actually married you?? gross!)

Drey: (nothing, just a forced half smile)

DOD: (picking up one of the reduced Black Forest cakes sitting on the table out front) Is this fresh, little one, or is it fresh old, and that's why it has $2.00 off sticker on it?

Me: (WTF???)

Drey: Well, sir, it's fresh, but we need to reduce our cakes every few days.

DOD: Is that your fancy way of saying it's old?

Me: (no, you're old, dirty and old) No, sir. We just need to mark items down on certain days.

DOD: Well, that's good for me, not for you. (looking over at Drey) Did you have breakfast?

Me: (wtf does that have to do with 2 bucks off a cake?)

Drey: Yes, I did.

DOD: Did you eat lunch?

Drey: No, sir, it's too early still.

DOD: Well, are you going to have dinner?

Me: (what is this, 20 questions?)

Drey: Yes.

DOD: Well, I think you're too skinny, you should eat some more.

Me: (WTF??)

Drey: I eat enough, sir. This it just the way I am.

DOD: I'm not saying you're fat, I'm just saying you should eat a little more.

Me: (WTF? make some sense already)

Drey: (looking totally confused) Oh, OK.

Putting down the cake, DOD walks out of our sight for about 30 seconds. When he reappears, he's holding a loaf of Italian bread that he pulled off of our bread wall.

DOD: (handing the bread to Drey) Could you kindly slice this for me, little one?

Drey: (taking the bread from him) Sure.

Me: (following Drey over to the slicer and whispering) Could you kindly slice this for me, little one?

Drey and I said nothing. We just watched DOD lower his shades back over his eyes, make a quick turn on his heel, and then saunter off with the Italian bread in one hand and the Black Forest cake in the other, totally pleased with himself, no doubt.

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